


The Tipping Point

by elscorcho



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Peter is 18, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elscorcho/pseuds/elscorcho
Summary: Wade gestured with a nod, nostrils flaring with anger but managing to pull out a joke.   “So what gives? I’m not your type anymore?”“This one has been on my radar for a while … wasn’t sure I could find a big enough drinking glass to trap him under. Never expected to just find him carousing in the open….with you of all people.”“Why bother with an elaborate trap when you have a pint of horse sedatives, I guess.”





	1. Chapter 1

Deadpool came to in a dingy exam room, a sickly greenish light humming over his head and cracked tile-over-concrete from floor to ceiling. He was strapped upright to a rusty hospital bed, with a threadbare gown to match, no suit or mask to hide his blemished skin, and –god, not _again_ – slumped with lethargy, as though he’d been drugged.

Just another Wednesday night for Wade Wilson. The list of people who wanted him dead was a mile long. Most were causalities of wrong-doing, the rest, hatchers of evil schemes that he came along and foiled (the latter batch, occurring mostly within the last eight months or so. Derring-do was a relatively new gig for him.)

On the edge of his periphery, where Deadpool’s still-tingling, bare toes pointed and wiggled hello, [Hello!] were metal shelves lined with secondhand medical supplies, jars and obligatory specimens [Oooh, a spleen!] Beside that, a slapdash, Frankensteinien work station. [The yellow kitchen gloves kind of ruined the scare-factor, though.]

[Weapon X tomfoolery? Oh, you’re in a pickle now, Wilson.]

[Eh…it was bound to happen eventually]

And it was. Francis, the orchestrator of his last liaison with torture, the Bob Ross to his disfigurement, if you will, had survived; slipped from the wreckage of his lab to nurse his wounds and conjure more horrors for round two.  

If this was in fact his handiwork, there was only one thing to do. Deadpool sucked a lungful of air, his broad chest out, the stretch of leather tensing underneath. Teeth gritted, looking every inch the Action Star about to tear through his bonds in a thunderous roar of fury.

[Welp! It’s been real!]

With an overly long, satisfied sigh, Wade’s head came to rest. Eyes fluttering shut daintily, he snuggled his face into the rickety, sheetless bed as though it were the softest Sealy mattress in a five star hotel.

See, the reason Wade hadn’t gone hoarse from screaming, or abraded his skin raw trying to escape, as most sane people would have by now, was that he’d already lost most of his marbles. He’d been in this position before, the tipping point, stared down that cliff as his body was pummeled to the brink, but something had made him resist, cling to reality and fight.

Yeah, not this time. Quitting, all the way. Nudge the jar, let his sanity spill over.

(No commentary from the boxes. They all agreed.)

Minutes (or maybe hours) ticked by. Wade took to staring at the wall, memorizing every mildewy crack and crumble, picturing that his consciousness was the same. Something that used to be whole, now in shards, oozing awareness out of his ears and on to the floor.

He didn’t mean to dwell, but really, the boxes reminded him, this was a fitting ending to a fairly shitty existence, and isn’t it nice to think about the world he’s leaving behind, a better world.

[It’ll be a lot cleaner without you. Certainly less bloody.]

[Oh by the way, nice try, tagging along with a superhero, as though that _makes_ you a superhero.]

[Yeah that was rich. Trying to emulate…] This voice trailed off in a laugh.

[As though you could _ever_ hope to be like-]

A squeaking sound silenced the boxes. Two squeaks actually; one similar to the springy twangs his own bed was making and another, more human; a breathy, distressed little “yip!”

Jarred from his trance, and more than a little annoyed, he flopped his head over with a glare.

[Why is there a puppy having a nightmare next to me –OH. MY GOD.]

It was another bed, likewise canted into a sitting position. This one was occupied by a young man, facing away. He was unsecured by cuffs or straps and bent asleep like a little curly-headed spoon.

 [NOPE. nopenopenope I’m turning away now.] Wade clamped his eyes shut, turned his head stiffly, his mouth even stiffer, set in grim, but wobbling line.  

[What boy? I didn’t see a boy. Did _you_?]

[Nope, not a thing. You must be losing it, Wade.]

[Great! Losing it was the plan so I’m on the right track. Ok, night-night, boy-who-isn’t-really-there. Wade has to make like Doctor Strange and astral project the fuck out of here.]

[Oh…shit. You don’t suppose that’s Spi-]

[Same build. Same height. That squeak-]

[SHUT UP. SHUT UP.] He scolded the boxes, shaking his head.

As the sedatives wore off, awareness returned, a memory solidified.

~

Wade had been out on routine patrol; the city air was thick and flavorful, sticking to his lungs in a good way. A couple of rousing bust-‘em-ups later, he and Spidey took a well-deserved munchie break on the roof of Citibank.

The larger man bit into a juicy chimichanga wrap. “You’ll love this one.” He said through a mouth full, then swallowing. “What goes in, hard and dry-”

The cheeky little mouth of his companion, mid-chew, held back an oily smirk, waiting for the filthy punchline. His throat worked it down and he licked his lips unconsciously, an act which did not go unnoticed by Wade, whose own smile curled devilishly.

 “-But comes out, soft and wet?”

“Oh gross, Wade!” Spider-Man groaned, his nose snorting through the mask. “I’m eating.”

“Chewing gum!” The muscled mercenary waggled his brows at the squirming young man. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Something…else.” Spider-Man demurred, smothering a bashful grin.

And was that a fetching blush, breaking out along his smooth jawline? It definitely was.

Spidey nudged in closer, and their thighs pressed through their costumes. That made three, THREE overt coquettish gestures in a row. Wade felt his pants tighten and a growl rumble deep in his chest.  Had his flirting actually worked?

[Yeah right, what makes this time so special?]

[Look at him smiling at you! Go on, idiot, make a move!]

He felt strangely unprepared, like being stuck listening to call-waiting music so long you forget why you rang in the first place when they actually pick up. He could lean over and bring some more interesting colors to that sweet flesh, maybe a few half-moon teeth marks near his jugular. No, first, a taste of that pretty mouth.

He dove in.

But the little shit ducked, reached over him with, well, _super-speed_ , snagging a handful of warm tortilla chips with utter impunity.

“Hey! You’ve already eaten your share.” Wade griped, marveling at Spider-Man’s taut abdomen. “Where do you put it all, anyway?”

Munching and doing a little victory dance in his seat, Spider-Man explained.  “I’m a growing boy.”

“Hmm...I’ll say.” Not to be deterred, Wade propped himself on one arm, crossed behind the smaller man, and the good half-a-foot he had on him meant he crowded into his airspace obscenely.  He coughed, and flexed his other bicep in cartoonish fashion.

“So, Love Bug, how long have we been engaged in this looo-ooong courtship?”

“Well we met about…a year and a half ago…started patrolling three months after that?”

“Isn’t it time we took it to the next level? Give me a face to put to all the Spider-Man fanfiction I write…” Deadpool reached out and brushed the edge of his mask, right below a covered earlobe.

“You know I can’t, Wade.” The smaller man rebuffed, leaning away.

“Just a peek. I’ve shown you mine.”

“It’s different for me, it’s-“And Spider-Man, being Spider-Man, too decent and polite to say that unlike Wade he had a family and friends to consider, simply repeated, “It’s different.”

Wade took his meaning, without insult, and pressed again.

“Who am I going to tell?”

“Someone could use it against you.” Spider-Man shook his head and added, pointedly. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Deadpool was inclined to remind him that he couldn’t be killed, or permanently maimed, if that were to happen, but was so moved that Spider-Man actually cared, that he dropped the subject. He decided instead to let the boy steal as much of his food as he pleased so long as it meant that mouth, jaw and throat were there to watch and memorize.

A few minutes later, halfway into a conversation about the previous night’s episode of The Walking Dead (Peter had decided to stop watching because of the uptick in senseless violence whereas Wade had never been more entertained) some thugs came along, armed with glowing, black market weapons and broke up their dinner date.

~ ~

Wade’s eyes were wet, his mouth had gone dry. He tested his bonds, reflexively, mind racing. The parts of his brain that he’d shut down earlier started flickering back on, a hard reboot casting terrible warning messages like a computer riddled with malware.

 “Fu-uck.” He cracked out a groan, realizing it was the first thing he’d said aloud in this room, everything else had been internal dialogue. Well, that just about jammed the last nail in the coffin of his plans to sleepwalk through this nightmare.

He was alert, on edge, planning his next move, which tentatively stood at making a series of irritating “Pssst, PSSST” sounds until the boy woke up.

 But before he could, someone entered, closing the door with a soft click.

“Hello, Wade.”

Still facing the wall, Deadpool took a private moment to steel his nerves, swallow his panic and calm his features.

Then he faced the newcomer, and greeted him brightly.

“Francis!”


	2. Chapter 2

Francis, or Ajax as he was now known, stepped forward and made an immediately troubling decision: electing to stand beside the other hospital bed and _not_ the man who humiliated him and destroyed his life’s work.

Wade noted that his usual lab coat had been swapped out for a set of metallic armor. The man had bulked up considerably, his face pocked and marred, twisted features reflecting the madness that had grown and surfaced.  

“Congrats on the villain upgrade.” He said, whistling. “Snazzy.”

“Same to you, _Dead-Pool_.” Ajax broke apart the moniker.  “Menacing. Goes well with the face.”

 “Actually, these days I prefer anti-hero.”

“Not according to the friendly, neighborhood company you’ve been keeping.” Ajax said, with a pointed stare that lingered, but not as lingering at the once-over he gave the supine young man.

“Who knew such a tiny body could handle that much tranquilizer.” He said, with awe and a dash of annoyance. “Knocked out five of my henchmen with four doses … seven did the trick. More than twice what we gave you... isn’t that something?” Ajax made a show of sizing up the smaller captive, then Deadpool’s considerable mass, motioning toward his thick, scarred forearms.

“I wonder what else the little _spiderling c_ an _take_. Should we find out?”

Wade gave a hoarse chuckle and an awkward, handcuffed shrug, hoping that the shock and finality of this reveal hadn’t shown on his face.

_Spiderling_.  It was him.

So Wade did what he told himself just minutes ago he wouldn’t; when it was just him, mired in guilt and self-defeat and convinced that fighting was not only useless, but more than he deserved.

This was Spider-Man, who deserved nothing but lollipops and rainbows and surprise puppies for the rest of his precious, do-gooding days.

Picking up where they’d left off, Wade reprised the role of jovial antagonist, hoping it would mask the panic that was throwing up obvious alarms all over his body. He’d managed to calm himself earlier, found almost-peace in the whole debacle, but that was before.

 Now…now the stakes were….ok, fuck, too much deliberation. Ajax was staring at him. And more unsettling, he was _touching_ Spider-Man, playing with the too-neat, Mormonish swirl of hair at the base of his neck, and Wade knew he had to find something to prattle on about, and soon.  

“My metabolism isn’t what it used to be, Francis. That hurts, you know-” Wade shifted against his restraints, sitting up as high as he could manage to face his captor with a weak pout. “If you’re trying to imply that I’ve put on weight...”

The other man’s eyes were sharp and all-too-knowing, a smirk that bared one razor incisor indicated that he was not going to rise to the bait of being addressed by his real name, which used to be a reliably exploitable Achilles heel. Instead, his hands grew bold and roamed across Spider-Man’s fevered nape and down his narrow, muscled shoulder.

The boy, evidently _Wade’s_ Achilles heel, judging by how poorly he was processing all of this, how delayed his normally crackling responses were, barely stirred as he was felt up over his flimsy, blue-grey hospital gown.

Wade gestured with a nod, nostrils flaring with anger but managing to pull out a joke.   “So what gives? I’m not your type anymore?”

“This one has been on my radar for a while … wasn’t sure I could find a big enough drinking glass to trap him under. Never expected to just find him carousing in the open….with _you_ of all people.”

 “Why bother with an elaborate trap when you have a pint of horse sedatives, I guess.”

Ajax lifted Peter’s arm, let it flop, boneless, over his midsection, and must have agreed, as he gave a casual shrug.

 “No offense but isn’t that a little...boring? Even the Joker tied Robin to a giant typewriter now and then.” 

“I guess my “villain upgrade” didn’t include a flair for the dramatic.”

With a darling snuffle, Spider-Man turned to face Deadpool, revealing a boyish, handsome face, a head of thick, conservative brown curls and that small, pink mouth.  Wade could hear the boy’s soft, labored breathing and swore he could _fee_ l his overheated body, working like hell to metabolize the soup of numbing chemicals he’d been fed. 

Beautiful, dead-to-the-world, frightfully unaware of the living hell about to engulf him.

“You’re drooling, Wilson… is this your first time seeing him out of the red pajamas? Oh, and you thought he was exceptional _before_ \- well, better late than never, drink up.” Ajax swept the side of his palm, finger-to-wrist, along the soft curve of Peter’s cheek, in a slow, boastful arc, pinching his cheek upon exit with a grimy, gritted smile.

“Exceptional?” Deadpool’s laugh was harsh, as intended, as he tore his eyes from that face, crinkling in sleepy distress.

He kept his voice flat, while his heart raced, threatening to punch a hole through his chest cavity like that scene in Alien.

And _oh, if anything could actually, for-real unalive me_ , he thought, _it might be this._

“Who? You mean this bronze-medal twink with sticky fingers? I _wish._ ”

Wade had to rule out full denials. There was nothing ordinary about a teenager dressed in head-to-toe spandex, chumming around with a bloodthirsty mercenary on the roof of a ten story building, eating Mexican food at twelve past ten.

And, if memory served, (though it was hard to confirm while drifting out of consciousness) said teenager had plastered himself to the ceiling of their holding cell, kicking up a fuss before the fifth or sixth syringe, heavy with tranquilizer, plunged into his thigh and he dropped to the ground like another kind of insect.

“He’s kind of my ward.” Deadpool elaborated. “We’re going for a Batman and Boy Wonder sort of thing, only this one here _insisted_ on wearing pants.”

 Ajax watched him with a face inscrutable, that wandering hand proving more of a distraction than any taunting words could and Wade remembered why he preferred adversarial banter.

“Millennials.” He shook his head. “All Photoshop and snapchat filters. _Presentation_ , but no follow-through. All he wants to do is film parkour moves for his YouTube channel.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t feel too bad. I fell down the rabbit hole of his Instagram and thought he was pretty Amazing, Spectacular, Sensational –“

“I get the joke. Your point?”

“Whoever gave him his abilities…if you can even _call_ those parlor tricks “abilities;” - hey, come to think of it,” he snapped his fingers (less effective with restraints) “was he one of _your_ failed science fair projects? That would make sense. You cooked up a lot of rejects at the other place, before I blew it up.”

Francis’s lip curled, and he shook his head a fraction.

“I wouldn’t have discarded a subject like this.” He punctuated the last word with a deliberate, possessive curl of his hand along Peter’s jawline, raising his face to observe him squarely.“I know potential when I see it.”

Wade pursed his lips, ignoring that last paper-thin threat and pivoting his approach. Ajax was in a warped, mad-scientist, facsimile of love, and would not be convinced that Spider-Man was anything less than a perfect specimen.

Wade shook his head with another sad, quiet laugh.

“Yeah. I thought the same thing when I first met him.”

Ajax had lowered Peter’s face and contented himself around his collarbone, slipping his hand beneath the gown to grope a smooth expanse of lithe upper chest, challenging; not that the challenger could do much about it.

“You know...this face you left me with, doesn’t do well at job interviews. Going legit isn’t really an option, and on my own? Rough.”

“Don’t tell me you were getting _lonely_ , Wilson?” Wade bit back a comment on the irony of a guy, groping a drugged and kidnapped teenager, implying that _he_ was the lonely and pathetic one.

So he just shrugged. “Yeah. Quasimodo left his tower. Saw the dancing, swinging gypsy boy, yadda yadda…I needed help. Wasn’t happy about it, but if I _had_ to partner up, it needed to be someone young, desperate, and easy to groom. Poor lamb was homeless. Family gave him the boot when they learned about his condition. Like a page right out of Kafka-”

Clearing his throat, Ajax interrupted. “May Parker. Wife of the late Ben Parker.  Adoring aunt, works three jobs to support her nephew...”

He drew his tongue across his teeth, raised his brows.

Deadpool made a hissing groan and let his head fall back. “Shit.”


	3. Chapter 3

Grinning maliciously, Ajax cupped Peter’s chin, appraising every angle.

 

“Peter Parker.” It was clear how greatly he relished the sweet, defaming truth of Peter’s identity on his tongue. “Age eighteen, senior at Midtown School of Science and Technology, first in his class– bright enough to land an  _ internship _ at Stark Industries….model student, wholesome as cherry pie. Your complete opposite, I’d say...” 

  
“ _ Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. _ ” Deadpool crowed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“This creature here,” Francis turned Peter’s face and pointed it at Deadpool, the movement sending hair tumbling across his forehead, and Deadpool was struck afresh by how fine Spider-Man …Peter….was, always had been, under the get-up, but he always knew that. 

 

“- this  _ ward _ of yours? I know who he is. I’ve seen what he can do. I’m going to find out  _ how _ .”

 

He stared at Peter’s mouth, pink and small and barely open, breathing. It seemed to calm him, until he started speaking again, and it was clear he’d gone to an even darker place.

 

“It’s going to take work.” He mused, with an eerie calm. “He’s covered in...prints.  _ Yours,  _ primarily _. _ But let’s not forget that honorable streak.  _ Captain _ Rogers, no doubt.” he bolded the title with mock veneration. “And his generous benefactor, of course- or should I say, John? That pompous Iron billionaire, acquirer of all things beautiful, or of use- and this one happens to be both. Poor little orphaned mutant....tainted with all of that influence. Like a sickness. Luckily I know how to cure it.”

 

The man’s voice had grown darker, more frightening, firm but chaotically frayed around the edges.  He was truly gone. The obsession with his own work, possibly altered by everything he had burning to the ground, had shifted to taking what didn’t belong to him and making it his, which, Wade dimly noted, was a possible chink in his armor, if he kept his wits about him and found the pulsing core of it.

 

“Oh, like you cured  _ me _ ?” 

 

“I’m talking insides, not outsides, Wilson. Keep up.”

 

To add to his point, Mister Friendly Fingers took it a step further, toward  _ Peter’s _ pulsing core, in fact, and there was a sudden, flowering burst of red behind Wade’s eyes, throbbing and disorienting, a blistering rage that was feral.  Now, ripping out the other man’s intestines with his teeth the minute he strayed too near was the closest thing to a “sound plan” he could muster. 

 

The villainous hand had left Peter’s chest, to cross over his ribs, grip his flank.

 

“I look forward to exploring the  _ full depths _ of Mr. Parker’s abilities.” Possessive, it slithered up Peter’s leg and hip, bunching the hospital gown to the waist.

 

Wade tensed, as the other man lifted Peter’s leg, and clawed up a greedy, none-to-gentle handful of pert, bare ass and gave it a healthy squeeze. The flexing tendons of his hand indicated another, hidden maneuver outside Wade’s view, but it didn’t take much to hazard a guess what that was.

 

He pulled away with a departing pat to Peter’s outer thigh, which was left exposed, as a taunting reminder, a threat, no doubt.

 

Peter’s spine and shoulders twisted feebly; would have been an arch if he’d had the strength, away from the bed, away from whatever was touching him. He breathed with difficulty through his nose and blinked at the ceiling, probably chasing the broken geometry of wall tiles just as Wade had been minutes ago.

 

Wade’s horror must have bared itself enough to encourage a new, malicious level of incitement from Ajax.

 

“Maybe I’ll let you watch.” he grinned. “The last thing you’ll see are these legs in the air, the last thing you hear, his cries, while I sink between them. Then I’ll throw a match on your nerves, the same way you set my life’s work ablaze.”

 

“Promises, promises.”

 

“You know how this goes. Supply me with information and in exchange, I might just pinky swear to be gentle.” He paused, clarified, “on him. Not you.”

 

“I’m an open book, fire away! Uh, no pun intended.”

 

“Sure it isn’t.” Francis sneered. “Let’s begin. As someone who has seen his abilities first hand….tell me what you know about these clever web-slingers, for starters.” He lifted a flaccid, but leanly muscled arm by the wrist, thrusting the appendage forward. “Should I go digging for gold, or can you divulge enough that I may not have to?”

 

“Is this another metaphor for sodomy, because I’m still a little drowsy from….it’s not? Oh, ok. So first off, he doesn’t actually shoot webs _out of his_ _body_. First in his class, remember? He cooked it up in lab. His agility and strength, though….a radioactive spider decided to have a nibble.”

 

There was a flicker of something in Francis; if it was disbelief, that meant trouble. For all the preposterous physical feats he’d seen Spider-Man achieve, right now all that mattered was the steady, purplish beat-beat-beat of Peter’s pulse against the tendons of his wrist, looking so deceptively delicate and vulnerable, held aloft and limp in the air. 

 

“Honestly! He was on a school field trip with his physics club.” 

 

“Ah, radioactive spider. Didn’t realize those were native to New York.”

 

“Come on.  _ Physics club _ . Who would  _ choose _ that for an origin story? Listen, if you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.” 

 

Peter had begun to stir, doe-eyes scanned the room, found their way back to Wade.

 

“Actually, it might a little disorienting if we jump right into the questions. We should probably fill him in on your evil scheme first, so he understands the stakes.”

 

Francis considered the delirious boy, gestured with false propriety. “From one villain to another, be my guest.”  

 

“Hey, Petey. Mind if I call you Petey?” At the ensuing look of dilated panic, Wade addressed his shock.

 

“Yes, I know your real name, and yes, your suit is gone. Sorry. It gets worse though, so buckle up. You’re kind of semi-paralyzed, for one thing. It’s a good look though.”

 

He looked him over. “Top-notch face, by the way.”

 

Peter swallowed a dry lump in his throat with a high, distressed sound on the exhale. 

 

“We’re at a new Weapon X facility…well, not really “new,” Wade appraised, looking around. “I think it was a bathhouse I used to go to in the nineties. And speaking of sweaty old Queens, see this guy here? –that’s Francis. Yes, _ that _ Francis. Say hi.”

 

Without uncrossing his arms, the other man lifted a palm and wiggled it in a semblance of a wave.

 

Peter shrank under his gaze, recalling Deadpool’s stories, and the torment this man had put him through. He was a lot shinier than Wade had described.

 

“So, not surprisingly, he’s decided to reopen the sideshow. Remember in The Fly, when Jeff Goldblum went back into the transporter, the second time, and came out looking like afterbirth with antennae? It’s like that. Marquis De Sade would reach for a sick bag.”

 

“Wade-“ Peter found his voice, and the questions that tumbled around in his head for once eclipsed any scolding remarks.

 

“No, listen, Baby Boy. I know you want to fight, I know you want to pop off on this guy, or maybe me, but this next part is important. It sounds like you’re getting the Bucky Barnes treatment. Francis here, he’s going drive your brain through the proverbial carwash, turn you into a genetically enhanced boywife. Trust me though, it’s the lesser of two evils. He’s a power top and you should probably start calling him Daddy. Lay back and think of Wakanda?”

 

He tilted his head to Francis for confirmation.

 

“Did I miss anything?”

 

“Not like he’s going to remember, but sure, that’s about the size of it.”  If Francis could sound anymore bored, he would have yawned. 

 

“Wade…” Peter swallowed and groaned, as he sat up slowly on his elbows. Francis uncrossed his arms, took an unhurried step closer, eager to pin Peter down again, perhaps this time make him squirm in his lap, while Wade squirms in rage.

 

“Yeah, Baby Boy?”

 

“Thanks for stalling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and a small epilogue to go. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

The events that followed were so precise and controlled they appeared to be choreographed. If there had been any lasting doubt that this boy was indeed Spider-Man, the unmistakable style of combat would have promptly closed the case.

 

Peter shot up and leapt over Francis, furious, graceful, with that trademark effortless bounce of his, raising the question: just how long had Spider-Man been faking?  Even Wade, hit-man extraordinaire and quite the sneaky customer, had no idea that Peter was physically up to the task of pouring his own Lucky Charms, let alone taking on Francis single-handedly. Had Black Widow been giving him super-sexy-secret-agent pointers?

 

Apparently so. Deadpool’s mouth went dry at the raw power radiating through that small body, and moreover the lurid, picturesque glory of his rage. It was as if Donatello’s David statue came to life and learned some killer Krav Maga techniques. Slight, petite- but a goddamn powerhouse, solid and powerful, every sleek muscle in stark relief. 

 

There was so much to take in, and taking it in was all Wade could do, shackled as he was, but damn if it wasn’t a fine spectacle. Peter’s subduing of a man twice his size, the purpling face clamped under his bicep and satisfying wet gargle for air, the villain's armor crunching like a cheap Halloween prop, and who could ignore that path of skin revealed by the split of Spider-Man’s hospital gown, where his soft, lovely rump was jutting out and flexing as he fought. 

 

Wade had never been so turned on in his life.

 

A centimeter shy of ending his life, Spider-Man released the man’s body with a cold thump on the tiled floor. Chest heaving, gown wrinkled off one sharp shoulder, sweaty curls matting his forehead, he left the bed to check on Wade.

 

“Oh  _ god,”  _ Wade moaned, desperately. “Me next, me next!”  

 

Peter rolled his eyes, snapping Wade’s restraints one by one with a little grunt each time.  

 

“A genocidal lunatic had his finger up my ass.” He warned.  “ _ Don’t  _ test me right now, ‘Pool.”

 

Freed, stretching, Wade sat up and swung his legs over the bed, taking in Peter’s words.

 

“Where’d they put my katanas.“ he lunged, but Spider-Man held him back.

 

“No, I want him alive.”

 

Wade jerked a thumb toward a security camera, mounted in the corner. “We’ll be fighting off a lot more in a second. You really want him to wake up and join in when they-“

 

“He won’t-”

 

“-I guess we could tie him up and threaten to kill him, blade-to-throat kind of thing? Do you think they’ll even care? You never know with these fair-weather henchmen-“

 

“ _ Wade.” _

 

“Oh hell, baby, it doesn’t matter- when they bust in, in I’m throwing myself on every weapon they’ve got. And you run for it, you run like hell.” He clasped Peter’s cheeks, pinching his mouth closed.

 

“ You’re gonna get out of here, Peter. You're gonna go on, and you're gonna make lots of babies, and you're gonna watch them grow. You're gonna die an old... an old lady warm in her bed, not here, not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?”

 

“Wade!” Peter said, pushing him away. Then he blinked, face scrunching.

 

“Did you…did you just quote the end of  _ Titanic _ -”

 

“They’re coming!”

 

Their attention was then drawn to a commotion on the other side of the door. Heart pounding, Wade pulled Spider-Man against him, an arm around his trim waist.

 

“Shit, you’re cute.” He breathed, studying his face, urging Peter to his toes and dipping his face to close the last two inches of space between them.

 

Their noses bumped, Peter opened his mouth in shock and Wade clutched him tighter, took control of his lips, a long, sucking press of mouths. It was over in five seconds, but it left Peter breathless. Before he could form a response, Wade was shoving him back, out of sight, acting as his shield.

 

The door crackled, groaned, as a thin, smoking beam of blue light crawled along the perimeter. The heavy steel piece fell forward, kicking up dust. Wade tensed, his arms and legs in a wild interpretation of a karate stance.

 

“When I give the signal, Petey, I need you to-“ 

 

Peter strolled out from behind him, to Wade’s open-mouthed astonishment.

 

“Mister Stark, I can explain.”


	5. Epilogue

Wade is staring at ceiling tile again, a new favorite pastime. Though, under much different circumstances than before. The room is bright and temperature controlled, decorated in warm southwestern tones. He’s unrestrained, but his body is stiff,  arms crossed over his midsection, twiddling his thumbs, a captive of uncertainty. 

 

Until an older nurse scurries into the room. 

 

“Oh, Mister Wilson.” She blinks, her voice tired but not impolite. “You’re still here. Didn’t Janet tell you? You’re free to go, dear.”

 

“She did,” Wade squints, reading her name tag. “Camilla. Thank you. Can you tell me if  _ Peter _ has been cleared?” 

 

“Not quite.” She says. “Mister Stark has specific instructions regarding the boy.”

 

Of course.

 

_ “Mister Stark, I can explain.”  _

 

_ Peter flinches as Vision floats through the wall (he still hasn’t gotten used to that) and goes about the task of peeling Francis off the floor and out of the room (through the door, this time.) _

 

_ The boy is flushed, half naked, in a makeshift Weapon X facility, with faint scratch marks on his thighs and a nice purple bruise on his right bicep where Francis had feebly tried to to punch him while being choked.   _

 

_ Tony’s glare is severe.  _

 

_ “The Mouth here can relieve you of that burden, I think.” He decides, turning to Deadpool. “You alright with that? Do you need to see a doctor, or-” _

 

_ “Maybe later. I’m still all limber and drugged, what's the fun in being poked and probed if you can’t feel it?”  _

 

_ Tony makes a small sound of disgust. He knows the history Deadpool has with this man, this operation. But it isn’t the time to get mad. There’s Peter to think about. _

 

_ “As for you.” _

 

_ Stark makes some kind of gesture with his pointer finger, and there’s Vision again, whisking Peter away in a very embarrassing bridal hold. _

 

_ “Wait, ugh, no I’m fine- Mister Stark, at least tell me how you found us?” _

  
  
  


_ “The signal from the tracker in your suit. I would have gotten here sooner, but it couldn’t penetrate the seventh circle of hell.” The billionaire explains, glancing around, handsome mouth downturned inside the open hatch of his helmet. “Eventually, these clowns started fiddling with it and opened up a nice, clear channel. Alright, Parker? Say bye-bye to Big Red.” _

 

_ And Wade hadn’t seen Peter since. _

 

“Would you like to see him?” Wade is up on his feet before the words have finished leaving the nurse's mouth. Standing, he’s even bigger than she’d realized. They start to leave.

 

“How do I look?” Wade jokes, slicking back no hair, with a bashful grimace.

 

The nurse smiles, radiating kindness. 

 

“Just fine. Now, let’s be quick. He’s been asking for you.”

 

A few more steps ahead, she expects to hear the man’s larger ones right behind, but there’s hesitation keeping him in the room, an audible lump in his throat when he asks:

 

“I don’t suppose this place has….um. A gift shop? Like, flowers….teddy bears, that sort of shit?”

 

“Sorry, dear. This is a private practice of Mister Stark’s. Just a few exam rooms, surgery, and a lab.” 

 

“Could I possibly...” 

 

“It’s alright. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

 

“Order some, uh, Mexican takeout?”

 

The nurse winks,  grabs a cell phone out of her pocket.

 

“You’re an angel, Camilla. Remind me to buy you a Ferrari after this.”

 

At the door to Peter’s room, warm delivered food in hand, Deadpool is faced with another opportunity to cut and run. Turn around right now, catch up with Spidey later when they’re suited up, lean back into  how it was before, coworkers busting criminals and having relatively impersonal rooftop dinner dates afterward with their masks covering up all the Feelings with a capital F. 

 

Forget this ever happened, forget seeing his face or learning his name. Uncomplicated, low risk option A.

 

Or

 

Lean forward, dive into option B. A swimming pool of trouble  and heartbreak and misguided mushiness. 

 

His palm is clasping a cold doorknob and feet are shuffling in motion before his brain has really thought it through. He can feel the splash, the warm water engulf him, when he sees Peter.

 

Spider-man couldn’t look any less superhero. He’s in the center of the room, bundled up in a little nest of restless hospital bedding. There’s a Physics textbook, pen and spiral journal sitting off to the side and he’s boredly eating a cup of Jello in his lap while some kind of sitcom rerun drones on the television mounted on the wall. 

 

His head turns, curls shake, face lights up.

 

Wade lifts the greasy bag.

 

“Pick up where we left off?”

 

Peter rubs some lingering sleep out of his eye, tucks his white socked feet in, pats the end of the bed.

 

“Get over here.” 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who followed this story! It was never meant to be long or involved, but really helped me get a feel for how I wanted to write these characters going forward. You may notice that Wade’s voices/boxes appear initially, then never show up again. There’s a reason for that. Turns out, I don’t really care for writing them ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I have more Spideypools in the works (with a sprinkle of Cable, Venom and whoever else catches my eye) please subscribe if you’re interested!


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